Vengeance
by isabella2004
Summary: Ivan Drago returns to America after his defeat to train with coach Jim Baxter who persaudes his daughter Jenny to tutor Ivan in English. Separated from her violent husband, it's the last job Jenny wants. But she soon realises they could help each other...
1. Chapter 1

I always thought that Ivan Drago got a bit of a hard time in Rocky IV. I think that he was just a guy who wanted to box but he was corrupted, manipulated and drugged by the Russian government. So I wanted to write about what might have happened after he lost…plus he's hot!

**Vengeance**

**After his defeat at the hands of Rocky Balboa in Moscow, Ivan Drago returns to America and, keeping a low profile, starts to train with small time coach Jim Baxter. To help Ivan adjust to life in America, Baxter ropes in his daughter Jenny to tutor him in English. Separated from her violent boxer husband, babysitting another fighter is a job she doesn't want. But as the pair spend more time together Jenny realises they may be able to help each other more than she thought…**

**Prologue**

**December 26****th**** 1985**

**New York City**

His fist hit the wall, inches from her face, causing her to yelp and jump back. Turning to face him, she saw the familiar fury in his eyes and, mustering every ounce of courage she had left, she squared up to him.

"You fucking piece of shit."

His mouth trembled with anger at her insolence. "You walk out that door, Jenny and I'll smash your fucking face in, you hear me?"

It was no idle threat. She knew that he would. She had the memories of the bruises and fractured cheekbones to prove it. "Go ahead," she replied, her voice trembling slightly, "it's not as if you haven't done it before. That's all you boxers know, isn't it?" He didn't say anything. "You think you can solve everything with a punch. You think that's how you get respect. But it's not respect, Dan. It's fear. And fears can be overcome."

He started to laugh contemptuously, "Really?"

"Yes," she said, "really. I've spent the last five years of my life letting you control me and treat me like a _punching bag_…but not anymore Dan. No more. Now I'm walking out of this door and I'm leaving you and if you want to smash my fucking face in for doing that, then go ahead. But it's not going to change the fact that I'm not afraid of you anymore!" It was a lie, of course. She was terrified. Perhaps more terrified than she had ever been before. But this time, she knew she had to do it. If she didn't, she would one day die at his hands. She had thought the day before, Christmas Day, might have been that day. A petty argument over the Rocky Balboa – Ivan Drago fight had led to her spending the night wide awake, a kitchen knife under her pillow.

Dan moved even closer to her, so close that their faces were almost touching and she could feel his breath on her lips. She thought back to years gone by, when being this close to him made her body weak with desire. There was no desire anymore. There hadn't been for years. Two voices screamed inside her head. One was shouting _this is it, he's going to kill you_ and the other was shouting _this is it, you've done it._

"Go," he said suddenly, quietly, his eyes sweeping her with a look of utter disdain, "I'm done with you anyway." He moved away from her, creating enough space for her to be able to turn, open the door and get out.

Knowing from past experience that turning her back on him was never the safest option, Jenny felt for the door handle behind her, turned it and opened the door. Her eyes never left his face as she reached down to lift the suitcase at her feet. Slowly, she manoeuvred her body out of the door into the hallway, waiting, bracing herself for the moment when he would pounce and smash her head into the wall. It didn't come, but he stepped forward as she stepped back, following her out the door.

Sensing freedom was in sight, she backed away from him along the hallway to the stairwell and then, seizing the moment, turned and ran as fast as she could, dragging the suitcase behind her, down and out through the main apartment door into the biting cold wind of a Boxing Day morning. Without looking back again, she sprinted to the car, wrenched open the door, tossed the suitcase in and then jumped into the driver's seat.

As she jammed the keys in the ignition, she looked up, in time to see him appear at the main door. He made no move to come towards the car but merely watched as she started up the engine.

_Go, go! _The voice inside her head was screaming even louder than it ever had before. _You're free! You've done it! _Slamming her foot down on the accelerator, she roared away from the kerb, keeping her eyes forward, her mind focussed on what she was doing.

Twenty minutes later, her father opened his front door after her insistent knocking and pulled her into his grateful embrace.

**December 26****th**** 1985**

**Moscow, Russia**

"Disgrace to your country! Disgrace to your wife! Disgrace to me!"

He sat, head bowed, as he had since that terrible moment when he had been knocked down in the ring. In the heat of the moment, when he had grabbed Rimsky by the throat at the ringside and screamed at them all that he fought to win for himself, he hadn't considered the consequences of a loss. Hadn't contemplated not been hailed a hero. Hadn't contemplated not being able to live up to the huge image of himself hoisted prior to the start of the fight.

But he had been enduring those consequences ever since. Dragged from the ring, battered and bloodied, Nikoli had berated him all the way back to the dressing room, spewed venom at him as he had been examined by the doctor, only ceasing when he and Ludmilla had finally made their way home. Then there had just been the terrible silence as she refused to speak to him and slept in another room.

"After everything that we did for you! All the time, energy and resources spent on you…! You would have be nothing without me! Now you are _nothing, _Ivan, _nothing!" _A day later, Nikoli was still speechless with rage.

"I did my best," he said quietly. "This man…he was…"

"A man! A little man that you should have knocked out in the first round!" Nikoli stood in front of him, leaning towards him, pointing his finger in his face as though chastising a child. "He should have met the same fate as Apollo Creed and yet you let him _beat _you! I do not know why I wasted my time and money on you!"

"I am a good fighter."

"You are _not!" _Nikoli insisted. "You are a loser, Ivan. You will never fight professionally again in Soviet Union, I will see to that! You have embarrassed me and _everyone _around you!" He straightened up and adjusted his tie. "You would do well to think on that." He turned smartly on his heel and headed to the front door, letting it slam shut behind him.

Ivan stood and moved to the window in time to see his, apparently, former manager be ushered into a large black car and speed away from the kerb. With him, went everything that had been dreamed of for so long.

"He is right."

His wife's voice jolted him back to reality. "Milla…" he turned to where she was standing at the fireplace, her back to him.

"Don't," she said. "I cannot look at you. I cannot…" she trailed off. "Nikoli is right. You should have easily won that fight. You were fit, you were trained, you were ready…"

He stepped towards her and then stopped, recognising that he would receive no solace from her. "It is not the end," he said. "I can try again. There will be other fights…other men."

Ludmilla turned to face him, her expression hard, yet betrayed by a lone tear descending down her cheek. "Don't you see, Ivan? It _is _the end. Without Nikoli…we have nothing. There is no trainer, no manager, no equipment, no money…"

"No drugs," he interrupted bitterly. "No needles to be put in me."

Her eyes hardened and she raised her chin defiantly. "We knew what we were getting involved in, Ivan. You did not complain when you were told what would happen. You did not flinch when those needles were put in you."

"You did not flinch either."

"I knew that it was all for your benefit! For your own good! To make you the great champion that I knew you could be!"

"You did not believe that I could win without Nikoli? Without the drugs?" He asked her the question he had always wanted an answer to. She didn't reply. "You did not?"

"I wanted you to win," she said finally. "I wanted you to move beyond amateur level and become heavyweight champion. Was that so wrong?"

"But you did not think I could do it without Nikoli."

Ludmilla lowered her eyes, "Perhaps. But now I think that you could not do it at all." She met his gaze again. "Because you didn't."

He strode forwards and gripped her shoulders. "It will just be us again, Milla. Like it was before. Before Nikoli, before Creed and Balboa. Before any of it. We can start again."

She shook him off. "Didn't you hear what he said, Ivan? You will never fight again in Soviet Union. There is no future for you in boxing here. There is no future for us. The embarrassment and disgrace…"

He stared at her, "You are more concerned about that than being with me?"

"I am an Olympic champion," she said, "a success. I am sorry…but I don't see how we can be together any longer." As she made to move past him, he grabbed her arm to stop her and she swung around, landing a stinging blow on his cheek that hurt more than any punch from Balboa. Instantly, he released her and she hurried away from him.

An hour later, as she closed the door behind her, carrying as many of her possessions as she could carry, he made no effort to stop her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for all your reviews! I'm glad you like the story so far! Please keep it up.**

**December 31st 1985**

**New York City**

Jenny stood at her father's front window watching as fat flakes of snow fell onto the ground. It had started just after breakfast and continued all day so that the street and sidewalk were both covered in a thick, white carpet. Cars navigated each other slowly as people attempted to go about their daily business but she could see that her own car was completely covered and there would be little chance of being able to dig it out if the occasion warranted it.

In the far corner of the room, the radio was still playing Christmas songs, even though they day itself had passed. It would soon be a new year. 1986. A new beginning, her father had said. She knew he was right. Freedom from Dan brought endless possibilities to her, but there was also the fear. Fear of the unknown, of being alone again, and of the bitter battle no doubt yet to come.

There had been no word from Dan since she had left. No phone calls, no appearances at the door begging for her forgiveness. It was the first time that he hadn't chased her and she didn't know whether to see that as positive or not. Perhaps it meant he would finally accept it was over and yet, in her heart, she didn't believe that he would.

"Dinner's ready!" Jim called from the kitchen and she turned away from the window and crossed the living room where the smell of her father's roast beef was mouth-watering. "I hope you're hungry," he said as she took her seat, "I think I might have made a little too much."

"A little?" Jenny echoed, her gaze falling on the heaped plate he placed in front of her. "I'm still full from Christmas dinner."

"Nonsense. You need fattening up." He sat down opposite her and opened a bottle of wine. "I told you before, Jenny, you've been looking much too pale and thin of late. Not that I don't know why."

"Let's not talk about it," she said quickly.

"If that's what you want."

"It is." The last thing she wanted, or needed, was her father to start dissecting her relationship with Dan. Though she knew he would always take her side, there was a part of her that felt he blamed her for not leaving before.

"So, are you going to file for divorce?"

Jenny paused and looked at him, "Didn't I just say I didn't want to talk about it?"

"All right," Jim replied. "But I just think..."

"Dad!"

"Sorry." He put his fork down, reached over and squeezed her hand. "I'm just glad that you're here, that's all. Your mother would be too."

Her eyes fell on the photograph of her mother on the sideboard. The smiling face was so familiar and yet, in years gone by, her mother had looked perpetually worried every time she had seen her. With a stab of regret, she realised it was because of what she had put her through by staying with Dan. How she wished her mother had been here when she had arrived on Christmas Day.

"You still planning on doing my books?" Jim asked, jolting her back to reality.

"Of course. Whenever you like."

"First few days after the New Year should be pretty quiet. Why don't you come down to the gym with me? Give you something to do before school goes back?"

"Sure," she replied. It wasn't as though she had anything else to do.

XXXX

He hadn't been back to America since Creed had died. Returning to Moscow after that fateful night had been a blessing. The newspapers had been full of what had happened. The American hero, slain by the Russian invader.

Ivan had never intended for Creed to die. He hadn't expected for one moment that his blows would be so deadly. When the reporter had thrust the microphone in his face and asked him what he thought about the injured fighter, he had replied as Nikoli had told him to. He had realised, hours later that it had been the wrong thing to say.

As he stood in the line for immigration at Newark Airport, he looked out of the window to where the airport was rapidly becoming more and more obscured by the snow. There had been talk before his plane had left Moscow, that they might have to divert because of the bad weather. He had laughed to himself at how ill-prepared the Americans always were. In Russia, a little snow would not bring everything grinding to a halt the way it did here.

His decision to return had been made quickly, mere hours after Ludmilla had left him. What was there for him in Russia anymore? He could go nowhere without being recognised as the man beaten by Balboa. He was pointed at, ridiculed, in the street and on television. The memories of that fight, of how the crowd had suddenly turned against him, were raw and he hoped that here, in New York, he could simply disappear.

When he stepped up to the counter and handed over his passport and visa, the man at the desk looked at the photograph, then at him, then back to the photograph again. He studied the other paperwork carefully and Ivan knew that he recognised him. He shifted from foot to foot, hoping the man would hurry up, wanting nothing more than to collect his bags and leave.

"Enjoy your stay," the man said, finally, stamping his passport and handing it back.

"Thank you," he replied. Lifting his rucksack, he followed the signs for baggage claim and, once his suitcase had been retrieved, he headed for the main airport door. As it opened, he felt the raw, cold sting of the winter air on his face and flurries of snow settled in his hair. If he closed his eyes, he could have been in Moscow. Straight ahead, he saw a line of New York's famous yellow taxis and he hurried forward to the first one in the queue.

As he approached, the driver tossed away his lit cigarette and opened the trunk for his bags. "Where you headed?" he asked, slamming it closed.

Ivan paused. He had no idea.

XXXX

Jenny had only stayed up to keep her father happy. Dick Clark was on and he insisted she sit with him, drinking brandy and eating peanuts until the ball dropped on Times Square and it was officially 1986. Once all the initial excitement had passed, however, she made her excuses and headed for her bedroom, the room she had occupied as a child, little changed from those days.

Outside her window, she could hear laughter and shouting coming from down the street as revellers spilled out of their homes or the nearby bars. Climbing into her bed, she pulled the duvet cover up close under her chin and closed her eyes. She wanted to sleep, to put everything that had happened behind her and to wake in the morning refreshed and ready to grab 1986 by the balls.

Twenty minutes later, she admitted defeat, snapped on her bedside light and lifted a magazine.

XXXX

The hotel was nothing compared to the luxury he had stayed in on his last visit to the country, but it was cheap and anonymous and those were the two most important things to him right now. He had taken the room for three nights, enough time initially, he hoped, to be able to find somewhere more permanent.

In a somewhat desolate area of town and with it being New Year's Eve, the noise from outside was incredible. People were shouting, glass was breaking, sirens were wailing...it was just how New York was portrayed on the television. A violent, disordered place. For a while, he lay on his back, staring at the stained, cracked ceiling listening to it all, but eventually he fell into a dreamless sleep, only to be suddenly woken by a banging on his door. He lay, unmoving, presuming it was simply a mistake, but the banging came again, louder and more insistent.

Finally, Ivan climbed out of bed and moved slowly over to the door. Glancing through the spy-hole, he could see the figure of a man on the other side. The light directly above his door was broken and the man's face was shrouded in shadow. He banged the door again and Ivan stepped back, unsure as to what to do. He knew he would be able to defend himself from any threat, but such an altercation would surely threaten his wish to remain unknown. He stood, waiting, his heart thumping in his chest, then he moved forward to the door again and peered through the glass. The man was gone.

He slipped back into bed and pulled the covers around him, feeling a sudden shiver go through his body.

How he wished for the warmth and comfort of another person.


	3. Chapter 3

**January 2nd 1986**

Jenny shivered as she flipped the lights on, bathing her father's gym in a yellow hue that only served to highlight how desperately it needed painted. One light in the corner started to flicker mercilessly and she suddenly remembered reminding her father to change the bulb before the gym had closed for the holidays. He obviously hadn't done it, which was typical. She loved him to death and when he was immersed in the world of boxing he was a ball of highly charged energy, excitement and anticipation. But he was nothing if not completely and utterly oblivious to maintenance issues.

Crossing the floor, the sound of her boots echoed around the room, bouncing off of every wall, comforting her as she reached the office and unlocked the door. Clearly the other thing her father had neglected to do before the holidays was tidy up. Stained coffee cups littered the desk atop un-opened mail, Christmas cards and, more than likely, bills.

Sighing, she dropped her bag in the corner and sat down in the worn leather chair that creaked under her weight. It was unlikely that anyone would come into the gym today given it was still technically the holidays so she was guaranteed peace at least to get on with what needed to be done.

Her mind flitted briefly to the stack of papers sitting in her room at home just waiting to be graded in time for school going back next week. There was no way she could go back to work without having them done and yet…her mind just wouldn't let her focus on them. They were a symbol of her life. Her other life. The life she had with Dan. The one she was trying so hard to leave behind.

She peeled off her jacket and flicked on the ancient coffee machine. There was only one thing to do and that was to engross herself in the accounts of a small, rundown boxing gym.

XXXX

Ivan replaced the receiver in the cradle and retrieved his money from the slot. It was the third time he had tried to call Ludmilla since he had arrived in New York and no-one seemed willing to divulge her whereabouts. He had tried everyone he knew, everyone she might go to and yet, nothing.

"Ivan, come home," his mother had said when he had called to say he was safely in New York. "What is the purpose of this? Come home to your family. Perhaps then, you and Milla…"

She didn't understand why he needed to do this, and he didn't expect her to. All he could do was reassure her that he was well and that he would phone regularly and that if she heard anything from Ludmilla, she must tell him.

Stepping out of the phone booth, he pulled his hooded sweater tighter around him to keep out the chill morning air. People scurried past him in all directions, going about their daily lives, and not one person even so much as glanced at him. It was a relief.

Pulling his hood up, he began jogging along the sidewalk, focused once more on his mission for the day. He needed somewhere to train. It had been several days since he had pulled gloves on, punched a bag or done anything remotely linked to boxing and he was starting to feel the ill effects. He could almost feel his muscles withering away beneath his flesh. It was like the drugs they had pumped into him at home. When he stopped training, he started to get withdrawal symptoms.

He needed to find a gym. Somewhere out of the way, anonymous, where he could be left in peace simply to clear his head and forget everything that had happened in the past. Perhaps it was too much to ask, but he just wanted to be the man he was before.

He kept running, with no real sense of where he was or what direction he should take. The bustle of the main streets gave way to quieter areas and before he knew how far he had run, he found himself in what appeared to be a back alleyway. He paused and looked back they way he had come and yet, nothing seemed to be familiar. Looking up ahead, he saw a tired, grey building nestled between two brown stone buildings, the paint on its exterior flaking, wire mesh on the windows. There was a small sign above the door and, as he moved closer, he was able to make out the grimy picture of two boxing gloves.

XXXX

Jenny lifted her head and rubbed the back of her neck. A quick glance at her watch and a growl in her stomach indicated it was almost noon. Scattered on the desk in front of her were her father's accounts, mixed in with the un-opened bills. Trying to make sense of it all was starting to give her a headache and she decided that a brisk walk to the local deli and some decent coffee was required before she could even think about doing anything more.

As she got to her feet, she heard the sound of the outer door bang. The noise made her jump and as she moved to the door of the office, she wondered who could possibly have decided to come and train.

She recognised him immediately. Even though he was dressed so differently, in jogging pants and a hooded jumper, she would have known that face anywhere. It had been plastered all over the television for weeks and the Christmas Day fight had been advertised on billboards the length and breadth of the city. Moreover, she had watched transfixed as Balboa had slowly beaten him down, each round etching a further splinter of defeat on his seemingly flawless skin.

He walked towards her, his gait unsure, his eyes darting around the gym as though expecting to be attacked at any moment. From the brash confidence of the man who had fought and killed Apollo Creed, Ivan Drago now looked unsure, scared even.

"Can I help you?" she asked, surprised at the high-pitched quality of her voice.

"I…" he looked around, as though wishing no-one else to hear their exchange. "I look for gym."

"Well this is a gym," she replied, realising how ridiculous her words were the moment they were out. "I mean…were you looking for a particular gym?"

Ivan shook his head. "No. I look to…to train."

"Oh…" Jenny paused. "Uh….this is my father's gym and I'm sure…I'm sure he'd be happy to let you train here. He's a professional trainer," she added.

"I can box here?"

"Uh…sure. I mean, there's no-one else here right now given it's still technically the holidays but…you're welcome to use the facilities if you want to."

He frowned, "Facilities?"

"Oh, the ring, the weights, the pads…" she trailed off, feeling her heart thumping in her chest for some inexplicable reason. "I'm Jenny," she held out her hand.

"Ivan," he said, taking her hand in his.

She was surprised by how gentle his touch was and the softness of his hand. Dan's had always been so rough. "I know."

He pulled away first, looking at the floor, as though unable to hold her gaze any longer. "I can train now?"

"Of course," she said, "I'll show you where you can change." She crossed the gym floor towards the dressing rooms and opened the door. "There's lockers and showers…uh…make yourself at home."

"Thank you," he said quietly and she found herself somewhat transfixed by the blueness of his eyes.

"I'll…uh…I'll just be in the office if you need anything," she tore her gaze away and, turning, hurried back across the gym into the office where she realised she had been holding her breath. It came out in a rush and she had to hold onto the desk for support. Sitting back down, she lifted the papers she had been reading over and tried to re-focus but her mind was reeling. Ivan Drago. _The _Ivan Drago was in her father's gym!

Moments later, Ivan reappeared from the changing rooms, dressed in shorts, a wife beater and carrying gloves. Jenny watched as he crossed the floor to the nearest punching bag, pulled on the gloves and began training. His face was the picture of concentration as he danced around the bag, landing blow after blow, ducking and diving, as though the bag would suddenly reach out and smash him across the jaw.

After a while, he stopped, his body glistening with sweat and, looking across, he met her gaze.

"Shit," she swore softly, lowering her head to the papers again.

XXXX

The girl, Jenny, seemed nice, Ivan thought as he caught sight of her watching him train. She was so different from Ludmilla, smaller, stockier and with a mass of dark brown curls cascading down her back. The oversized sweater she was wearing did nothing for her figure but he somehow found it more pleasing to the eye than his wife's sharp suits had ever been. Her face flashed across his memory and he landed one final, agonising blow to the bag before stopping to catch his breath and look again at Jenny. When she realised that he had seen her watching, she ducked her face out of sight. Rubbing his forearm across his forehead, he made his way across the room to the office door.

"Everything all right?" she asked, looking up with a smile.

"Yes," he replied, taking in the wide brown eyes. "You have many fighters here?"

"A few," she replied. "Mostly young boys from the neighbourhood, but a few older ones too."

"Your father is trainer?"

Jenny nodded. "He was very successful in the late sixties, early seventies with some local fighters who made it all the way to national championships. Now…" she trailed off somewhat wistfully.

Ivan cocked his head to one side, "Do you box?"

"Me?" she laughed. "No."

"Not even little bit?"

"Maybe some sparring every now and then, but not seriously."

"You spar with me."

She looked at him as though he were mad. "What?"

"Spar with me," he repeated, pointing to the ring. "We go, now."

"I'm not…no," she said. "I mean, I…I…"

"I be gentle," he reassured her, keen for the company. He saw the doubt in her face and realised, almost instantly, what she would be thinking.

Apollo's shadow loomed over him. He would never be able to escape the events of that night in Las Vegas. All anyone in America would ever remember him for, was the death of their former champion.

"I understand," he said softly, turning away.

"Wait," Jenny said, causing him to turn back. "I…"

Her words were lost as the window on the far side of the room suddenly exploded into a waterfall of glass, causing them both to jump and Jenny to scream as a brick smashed onto the floor and slid across to rest at his feet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for your reviews! Keep them coming!**

"Jesus fucking Christ..." Ivan turned as the words came tumbling from Jenny's mouth, and saw that she had gone deathly pale. "Jesus Christ...Jesus Christ..."

Before he could say anything, she had hurried over to the far side of the room and then stopped dead, mere feet from the window. Slowly, she began to back away, her fists balled at her side, her body trembling. He moved beside her and looked through the shattered window to the other side of the alleyway where a man stood, angrily grinding a cigarette into the sidewalk.

"Do you know him?" he asked.

Jenny didn't reply. She turned and walked quickly down the corridor to the door, throwing it open and letting in a sharp blast of cold, winter air. He heard the sound of her voice, raised and angry, and slowly followed her to where, although shrouded in shadow, he could see her standing just outside.

"Fucking asshole!" he heard her shout.

"Fuck you!" came the response from across the street. "You really think I was going to let you just walk away?"

Moving slightly to his left afforded Ivan a view of the man. He looked about his own age, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, a bottle of vodka in his hand.

"I don't want to talk to you, Dan!" Jenny shouted back. "I don't want to see you and what the _fuck_ was that?" she gestured towards the window.

"You don't just walk away from me, Jenny," the man said, crossing and standing right in front of her. His voice lowered so that Ivan couldn't hear what he was saying but though he could sense Jenny's unease, she squared up to him.

"Go away," she said, loudly and clearly. "I left you. It's over!" She turned away but the man grabbed her arm, swinging her back around to face him. Ivan was poised to reveal himself when Jenny swung her fist and caught the man a sharp, stinging blow to the jaw. He reeled and staggered backwards, his hands at his face, his eyes wide with shock. "Get the fuck away from me," she said, and he could hear her voice shaking. "It's over!"

"Do you know him?" Ivan asked, as she hurried back inside, closed the door and bolted it firmly.

"My husband," she said, refusing to meet his gaze. Moving past him back into the gym she started wandering aimlessly between the bags, one hand continually coursing through her hair, the other pinching her bottom lip.

He could feel the tension coming off her in waves and he stood helplessly at the door, unsure what to say or do. "Can I...uh...do anything?"

"Short of killing him for me, no." She stopped the moment the words had left her mouth and looked at him for the first time. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by that...I..." she broke off. "It's...it's complicated."

Ivan chose to ignore the implication in her comment and pointed towards the changing rooms, sensing that it would be better if he left. "I go?"

"Uh...yes...yes if you want to," Jenny replied, distractedly, turning and heading back for the office.

He watched as she sat down heavily in the chair and put her hand on the receiver of the phone. He waited, but she didn't lift it, instead lowering her head onto the desk in front of her. Mindful of his situation, he made his way back into the changing rooms, showered quickly and pulled back on his street clothes. As he re-emerged into the gym, he saw her replace the phone receiver.

"I go," he said.

Jenny looked up, as though seeing him for the first time, and stood up to come towards him. "I'm sorry about that," she said carefully, "You shouldn't have had to see that."

"He is not nice man."

"No, he isn't."

He waited, wondering if she would say more, but she simply pursed her lips together and looked at the floor. "You will be all right?"

"I'll be fine, thank you," she replied. "You're...you're welcome to come here and train any time. My father usually charges a fee but you can discuss that with him when...if...you come back."

"Thank you," he replied. "Well...goodbye."

"Bye."

He turned and made his way back down the corridor to the door, unbolted it and slipped back out into the chilly air. There was no sign of the man, Jenny's husband, and as he made his back towards the main street, he knew he would definitely return.

XXXX

It was only once he had gone that Jenny felt able to break down. She sank to the floor next to the ring, sobbing, her body shaking with a mixture of fear and anger. Given the time that had passed, she had convinced herself that Dan had accepted the finality of the situation. Accepted that their marriage was over. Accepted that she had really and truly left him. His display of anger, however, made her realise that those thoughts had been foolishly premature. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyeballs until she could see spots dancing in her vision. She had never raised her hand to her husband, other than in self defence when he had had her pinned to the floor. It had felt good, seeing the look on his face and yet she worried that it made her no better than him.

"Jenny?" the door suddenly opened and her father appeared. "Jenny, what the hell happened?" He dropped to the floor beside her and pulled her into his arms, letting her cry against his shoulder. "Is he still here?"

"No. I mean... he didn't come inside."

"Why the hell did you go out?"

"Because he smashed the fucking window!" she exclaimed, pulling back.

"I can replace the window, Jenny, but I can't replace you," Jim said, pushing her hair back from her face. "You're still my little girl, remember. Did you call the cops?"

"No."

"Jenny..."

"Dad, please don't start," she pulled away and got to her feet. "You know what happened when I called them before, nothing. They didn't even talk to him, so what's the point?"

"The point is," Jim said, scrambling up beside her, "you've left him. You're not a wife too terrified to report her husband anymore. You're a woman who's made an important decision to leave him. Dan has to know that he can't get away with this!"

"Then you call them," she said, "report the window."

"They ain't going to do much about a broken window," Jim mused, "especially with no other witnesses."

"Oh..." she suddenly remembered, "but there _is _another witness. Ivan Drago was here."

Jim stared at her, "Who?"

"Ivan Drago." She laughed at his expression in spite of herself. "I'm serious."

"Ivan Drago," Jim repeated. "_The _Ivan Drago?"

Jenny nodded. "He said he was looking for somewhere to train. To be honest, he looked more like he was looking for somewhere to hide."

"Well, is he coming back?" Jim asked, his eyes suddenly alive with excitement.

She sighed, "After what happened with Dan, I doubt it."

XXXX

Ivan peeled some banknotes from the bundle in his pocket and handed them over to the woman at the desk. His quest to find a more permanent living arrangement had so far come to nothing given that most places were still closed for the holidays and he found himself forced to stay at the hotel for another few nights.

The woman eyed him suspiciously as he passed her the money and he wondered if she recognised him or simply thought it odd that a tall, well built Russian was staying in the hotel. "You had a phone call," she said, as he turned to leave.

"Telephone call?" he asked, turning back.

"Yeah, some woman..." she squinted at a piece of paper on the desk in front of her. "Lud...Ludm..."

"Ludmilla?" Ivan asked eagerly.

"Sounds like it," the woman said, scrunching up the paper and tossing it in the waste bin under the desk. "Anyway, she said to stop calling."

Ivan felt his heart sink at her words. "Stop...calling?"

"That's what she said. I think. Her accent was kind of hard to understand, but that was about the long and short of it."

He frowned, "The long...?"

"That's what she said," the woman said, in a tone that indicated she was wishing the conversation was over.

"Thank you," he said softly, turning away and heading for the stairs. When he reached his room, he closed and locked the door and then, as anger overtook him, he punched it once, hard. The sound was deafening and he couldn't help but remember that day when he had welcomed the world's media to his training centre and Ludmilla and Nikoli had showcased his incredible strength. Back then...

He didn't want to think about it. That life was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the delay in updating. Thanks for all your reviews and messages. Keep them coming!**

**January 3****rd**** 1985**

"Oh my God Jenny! You must have been so scared!"

"I guess," Jenny replied, twirling the phone cord around her fingers. "But you know what, Rosa? I was angry too. Angry at the fact that he thought he could just turn up and smash the window like it was nothing."

"So what did you do?"

"Well...I went outside and punched him." She smiled at the sudden silence on the other end of the phone. "He deserved it."

"Holy crap..." Rosa breathed. "Jenny, you were lucky he didn't turn around and knock the hell out of you!"

"I know..."

"Jesus..."

"It's not exactly something I'm proud of but..."

"But...?"

"But it felt good at the time."

"You are insane," Rosa chuckled. "Have you graded those papers yet?"

Jenny glanced over her shoulder at the stack of papers still sat on the kitchen table. "Not yet."

"We go back to work the day after tomorrow!"

"I know and I'll get them done. It's just..." she broke off.

"It's just what?"

"Nothing. Listen, that's my dad back. I'd better go and heat up some supper for him. I'll speak to you later, ok?"

"Ok, but you be careful, Jenny."

"I will." Jenny replaced the receiver and smiled at the concern of her closest friend. Rosa had seen her through every fight with Dan. Cried with her, helped her cover her bruises with makeup and given her a bed for the night when she hadn't wanted to worry her parents. She couldn't blame the other woman for being concerned.

"Hey," Jim said, opening the front door and stepping into the living room. "What's for supper?"

"Meatloaf," she replied, getting up off the chair and padding into the kitchen. "Leave your boots outside!" She switched on the gas and glanced at the heavy snow still covering the ground outside.

"It's cold enough to freeze hell over out there," Jim said, coming in behind her and switching on the kettle. "You get any of that grading done?"

"Ummm...well I moved some papers around, put them in order, that kind of thing."

"That's a no then."

"I'll bring them to the gym tomorrow and do them all in one go," she replied, peering into the oven. "So...did he turn up?"

"No," Jim replied and she could hear the wistfulness in his voice. "I stayed open that extra half hour just in case but no sign."

"Well he didn't exactly get the best impression yesterday," she conceded. "Can't hardly blame him if he went elsewhere."

"Guess not. It would have been good for business though, to have a proper fighter in the place."

"I know," Jenny sighed and put a hot plate down in front of him. "Maybe he'll come back tomorrow."

"Maybe," Jim said. "Maybe."

XXXX

"You gotta be kidding me if you think I'm letting you stay here another night after what you did to my goddamn door! This is your last stop, buddy. Now get the hell out of my hotel!"

Ivan stood, staring at the woman in front of him, unsure what to say. The large dent in the bedroom door was obvious to everyone and yet, he hadn't expected to be thrown out. "Where I go?" he asked.

"That's your problem! You sure as hell ain't staying here!" She crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him. "What? You not understanding me, Ruski?"

Ivan grabbed his clothes where they lay on the bed and began stuffing them into his bag, humiliation washing over him. The woman was shouting so loudly that he was sure everyone else in the hotel could hear his disgrace. He felt his cheeks burn and knew that had she been a man, he would have struck her. Straightening up, he faced her. "My money."

"You ain't getting a cent back from me," she snorted, "and you're lucking I ain't demanding more from you to fix that door!"

"But I pay you for three more nights!" he insisted. "I need money back!"

"And I told you, you ain't getting anything back from me!" She squared up to him, miniscule in stature and yet a giant in her fury. "Now get out before I get someone to drag you out!"

In his mind, Ivan weighed up his options. He could refuse to leave and take his chances with whoever she might call on to remove him, or he could simply leave and start again. He elected to take the second option and as he hurried past her down the stairs, he could hear her taunts follow him until he was back out on the street.

Darkness had fallen, as had the temperature and he pulled her coat tighter around himself. As he stared up and down the street, he realised that he had nowhere to go and no money. He knew no-one. No-one that could help him. He started walking just as the snow started to fall again and, like before, he suddenly found himself on a familiar looking street. Peering into the darkness, he could make out the sign above the gym where he had been two days earlier. As he drew nearer, he saw that it was in darkness and, after knocking loudly on the locked door without answer, realised that clearly there was no-one there.

As he turned to walk back up the street, he suddenly caught sight of a wooden board, covering the window that the man had smashed when he had been there before. One corner of it was not nailed down properly and was banging in the chilly breeze. He realised that if he could somehow get in through the window, he would at least have somewhere to stay for one night.

Slinging his bag across his body, he dragged a nearby trash can underneath the window and stood on it. It gave him the height to attempt to pull the board away from the window at both bottom corners, creating a flap which allowed him to pull his body up and under. The broken glass had been removed and he was able to slide in through the opening and drop down into the gym. The noise when he landed reverberated around him and he paused, waiting for someone to come and challenge him. But there was no-one.

Afraid to turn on the lights, he moved forward in the darkness until he reached the door to the office that the girl, Jenny, had been sitting in. Pushing the door, he found it was unlocked and he stepped inside to where there was relative warmth. Sighing, he put his bag on the ground and prepared to settle himself in for the night.

**January 4****th**** 1985**

Jenny unlocked the door of the gym and manoeuvred her way inside, balancing all of her papers in her arms. She had woken early and left a note for her father saying she was going to get a head start on her grading and that she would see him there later that morning. Flipping the lights on, she realised that he still hadn't gotten around to changing the bulb and shook her head. It had been the last thing she had said to him before he had left the house the previous day but, as usual, it had gone in one ear and out the other.

As she opened the office door and switched the light on, a shape suddenly moved in the corner, starting her and she stepped back quickly, a scream about to burst forth from her mouth when she realised who it was.

Ivan leapt to his feet and put out his hands, almost as if he were afraid she was going to attack him. "I'm sorry," he said hurriedly. "I did not mean to..."

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?!" she exclaimed, her hand going to her chest where she could feel her heart thumping beneath her coat. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I..."

"How did you get in here?"

"The window," he gestured behind her, "I...I was looking for place to stay and..." he trailed off.

"So you thought you'd break into our gym?"

"No, I...I'm sorry," he turned and lifted his belongings from the floor. "I should not have...I go now..."

"Wait!" She stepped in front of him. "I don't understand. Why were you looking for a place to stay? Don't you have somewhere?"

Ivan looked at the floor. "I was asked to leave. They keep money and I could not find anywhere else. I remembered you and thought, maybe, you help me."

As her heart rate returned to normal, Jenny felt her initial anger begin to dissipate to be replaced by curiosity. Ivan Drago, a great fighter, reduced to breaking into a rundown gym to sleep on the floor? "Have you been here all night?" He nodded. "You must be hungry."

He looked away, "I..."

"Look...why don't you take a shower and then I'll take you for breakfast."

"You do not need to. I can go..."

"You at least owe me a little conversation after scaring me half to death," she insisted. "Just let me call my father and then we can go, ok?"

Ivan nodded. "Ok." He moved past her, out of the office, towards the showers. As he glanced back over his shoulder, she waved him on with her hand and, seconds later, he found himself standing under a hot shower, gratefully allowing the water to run over his body and ease his muscles, strained from hours lying on the floor. He was relieved that her reaction, although initially hostile, appeared to be becoming more favourable.

After showering, he dried himself, put on clean clothes and stepped back out into the gym where Jenny was standing staring at the broken window. He came to stand beside her and followed her gaze. "I am sorry about window. The wood was not..." he fought for the right words. "It was not...uh, how you say...?"

"Secure?" she finished for him.

"Yes, secure. I was able to..." he recreated the motion of pulling the wood from the window with his hands.

"I get the picture," Jenny said. "I called my father and he'll take care of it. He's dying to meet you," she added, walking towards the door. "He'll come by later, once he's picked himself off of the floor."

"Did he fall?" Ivan asked, as she opened the door for him.

Jenny laughed, "Not exactly."

XXXX

The cafe was quiet with only a few customers dotted around at tables. Jenny, for one, was glad of the peace. There were questions that she wanted to ask Ivan, something that wouldn't be readily possible if the place had been full of boxing fans. They both ordered full breakfasts from a waitress who looked as though she wouldn't have recognised him if he had been the President.

"So," Jenny said, when they were alone again. "Why don't you have anywhere to stay?"

"I punch door," Ivan replied, making the motion with his fist. "They don't like that."

"I'm not surprised. Was there a particular reason or were you just sparring with yourself?"

He looked down at the table top. "My wife, Ludmilla. She call and tell me to stop calling. I get angry and..."

"I'm sorry," she said. "You don't have to tell me anymore if you don't want to."

Ivan shrugged his shoulders. "She leave after fight with Balboa. She want to be with champion and I am not champion." He glanced up from under hooded eyelids. "You see fight?" She nodded. "Then you know."

"Balboa's a good fighter," she said. "You did your best."

"Even with drugs, I don't beat him."

Jenny shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Well...I suppose that different countries have different ways of..."

"No," he said sharply, meeting her gaze again. "It wasn't right. But I do what I am told, always. I am told to fight Creed and I do it. Balboa want to fight me, so I do it. I do it for Nikoli and Milla." He sat back in his chair. "Now I have nothing."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. You see me as Russian, as killer."

"That's not..." she broke off, knowing that it would be a lie to disagree. She had thought him a killer after the fight with Creed, a robot who cared nothing for his dying opponent at the ringside. She had joined in the conversations down-crying him, and cheered lustily for Balboa. But now, sitting opposite the man, she found him to be something she hadn't considered before. She found him to be human. The waitress appeared at that moment with their food and there was an enforced moment of silence. "I suppose people aren't always what you think they are."

Ivan speared a tomato with his fork and looked at her. "You hit your husband?"

"I've never done that before," she replied. "At least not when he hasn't been hurting me first. He's a boxer too and rather than practice in the ring, he liked practicing on my face." She smiled at the expressed look of surprise that comment produced from Ivan. "That's the look I get from people when they find out I was a battered wife. Either that or pity." She chewed on some toast. "But I left him. The day after your fight, actually. When he came to the gym the other day...that was the first time I had seen him since I left. I wondered how he was taking it and now I know."

"You will go back?"

"No," she said hurriedly, "I'll never go back." She watched him for a long moment. "Will you go back to Russia?"

Ivan paused. "One day, I will have to."

XXXX

"You know..." Jenny said thoughtfully as they made their way back down the street towards the gym. "There's a bedsit above the gym that no-one's using right now."

"Bedsit?"

"Yeah, it's like...it's like a whole house in one room. There's a bed, couch, small kitchen and bathroom. It's not exactly in liveable condition at the moment but...you could probably stay there just now if you needed to."

"I don't want to..."

"It's better than you sleeping on our office floor," she said. "I'm sure dad won't mind. Not once he's met you and told you what a great fighter he thinks you are."

Ivan looked at the ground again. "He will not say that."

"Don't be so sure. Come on, I'll introduce you." As she reached out and grabbed the handle, Ivan's hand suddenly covered her own. She looked at it and then back at him.

"I don't know why you help me," he said, "but...I thank you."

"Don't worry about it," she replied, her voice coming out more high-pitched than she intended. "Maybe you can teach me to hit better."

Ivan smiled as she opened the door. "You need no help there."


End file.
